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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482960">The Governor's Wife</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCreatorOfTales/pseuds/TheCreatorOfTales'>TheCreatorOfTales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wentworth (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Joan, Badass Wives, But this time she got a ride or die, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Governor Joan Ferguson, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, It's still Joan after all, Joan is a sarcastic little shit, Joan needs a bit of happiness okay?, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Smut, Sort Of, Vera Bennett gets some confidence, Violence, deafness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:35:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCreatorOfTales/pseuds/TheCreatorOfTales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Ferguson returns. All she wants is to see her wife. <br/>What a pity that Wentworth decided to erupt in a riot instead. </p><p>Begins at ep 3x01 and is a complete deviation from canon from there. Little dark in places, some humour, some comfort and a tiny bit of angst. Any major descriptions for violence will have a warning in the notes above the chapter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall, Joan Ferguson/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Wife Returns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It begins.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    The alarms are blaring, she notes as she pulls into the car park of the prison in a sleek black convertible.
Pulling into a space, she sits for a moment with the car turned off, assessing the best way to get through to the Governors office with the least amount of issues. Joan has done very well in the past year, and she’s proud of her. The tall, black haired woman has exceeded all that was placed on her in her life, including heartbreak, a glass ceiling and that misogynistic swine, Derek Channing. She’d caught up on as much news concerning her wife on the way home, having had a lot to catch up on after a year and a half in captivity in Somalia. The UN had sent her out there on a diplomatic mission that should have only lasted three weeks and was intended as peaceful. However, once her convoy had been targeted, most of it blown up, and she was captured, all rules had gone out of the window. She tried not to dwell on the past too much, all that really mattered was that she was now home, about to see her wife again, still had all her limbs and teeth, and most of her sanity. Some of the others in captivity with her had not been so lucky. She pulled down her sun-visor and flicked the mirror down to do one last minute check to ensure that her hair and ensemble (what she could see, anyway) would make an impression.  Bright auburn hair to her shoulders, green eyes and pale skin had a tendency to stand out anywhere, but the red lipstick and black eyeliner made people take notice more than normal, especially in Australia where most were tanned from the near constant sunshine. The fact that she was five foot eight, and wore heels regardless also made her stand out. But then it just made kissing her wife easier if she was the same height. Joan was taller by only a few inches, but she loved it.</p>
<p>     Sighing deeply, she opened the car door and stepped out, ensuring that her high waisted black suit trousers and her tucked in green blouse are wrinkle free and her heels have no scuff marks. Before closing the door, she reached in and grabbed the black leather gloves from the passenger seat, sighing fondly as she pulled the supple leather over her hands. She’d missed <em>these.</em> In her trouser pocket is a key card that has been obtained through quiet and less than legal means. She won’t it to get in if she doesn’t need to, but she will be getting in, in some way or other. She doesn’t bother taking a handbag, only her driving license in the breast pocket of her blouse and her keys. She locks the car, enjoying the loud ‘BLEEP-BLEEP’ and she begins to saunter towards the building, her heels giving satisfying clicks on the asphalt. The smell of smoke wafts into her nose and she looks up, noticing the black cloud coming from what likely is the yard for the prisoners. She smirks, noting that she might have to sneak in after all, she might even need to fight through a couple of people. Oh well, it was one way to let off steam, Joan had her fencing, but she had yet to find an outlet since returning to the country. Well, she had only been home for two days after all, and one of those had been spent in meetings being debriefed and provisions made for her life to resume back in Melbourne. Maybe Joan would want to fence with her again? She knew her wife, Joan wouldn’t have stopped her fencing just because she’d done something as inconvenient as be kidnapped. Routines would have been kept.</p>
<p>   She paused outside the main doors, noting that they slid open with no noise except a small whoosh of air, but nobody was manning the reception desk. Thinking quickly, she noticed a lanyard laying haphazardly over the keyboard of the reception, black with big white letters stating ‘DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE – CORRECTIONALS OF VICTORIA’ and a small logo on both sides. She quickly put it over her head and let it rest around her neck. She swapped the key-card for her bogus one, but kept the other in her trouser pocket. Better to act the part of an inspector, or an internal auditor, she might get less trouble from any officers she came across that way. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she moved forward to inspect the main door into the prison. Operated by key-card it looked like, but no other security measures. The alarm was still blaring, and it was now starting to get on her nerves. Even with her hearing in her right ear as bad as it was now after a bad beating in Somalia, the noise felt like it was bouncing through her head. She pulled the key-card out of her lanyard and squared her shoulders as the doors opened. Stepping through, she placed the card back in the plastic pouch and walked with confidence through the corridor. The lighting in the corridor was a low amber, riot lighting she assumed to slow erstwhile prisoners down with impaired vision. She walked through another door into a carpeted room, with tables and chairs dotted around the place, and had three other rooms to the side along with an officers desk to monitor the visitors and prisoners. Visitors Room, she assumed correctly to herself. This room held little of interest to her, so she walked quickly to the door with a bright red ‘RESTRICTED’ sign on the door, noting how the carpet gave way to cold linoleum tiles, and painted concrete walls. The lighting was still rubbish in here too, so she carefully slunk her way around corners, managing to keep her heels quiet, listening for any noise that could mean an inmate was coming towards her. Passing through various metal gates, she quietly tried to find her way to the yard. All the action and excitement seemed to be taking place there, and that is where Joan would be. Fondly smiling to herself, she knew Joan would be angry with such a blatant show of disrespect to her rule as Governor, and wondered how exactly she would get the rabble to knock it off. Using a fire hose to disperse them was probably out of the question, she supposed. Australia was awful fond of human rights (well mostly, as long as you were white. Much was still needing improvement.) Knowing her wife, it would likely end as psychological warfare, however, she couldn’t see that tactic being successful in this situation. She needed a obvious and strong response.</p>
<p>               The alarm stopped its screaming. Thankful for small mercies, she grinned.</p>
<p>               She continued down the never-ending corridors, only slowing when she heard sounds of struggle.</p>
<p>     “GET OFF!”</p>
<p>    “Grab her arms, lads! If she lands a hit on me, I’ll strap one of you instead!” this voice was rougher, like they were trying to disguise their voice. It sounded almost animalistic in its growling, and she inched her way to peek around the corner. How disappointing, she thought, the woman who had spoken appeared to be the shortest. Oh well, one kick to the crotch and she would come right down to the ground, she mused.</p>
<p>    “I can’t open the door! My card won’t work during riot protocol!” The woman who was currently held by the arms between two of the prisoners, who had their hoods up and their faces covered , although she couldn’t figure out by what, was trying to reason with them. She had a high voice, with a very strong accent, and she was wearing the black blazer, white blouse and black skirt of a superior Officer. Her hair was curly and mostly messy, however she could see the small bun that held most of her hair at the back of her head. She could also see that they had something to her throat whilst they were talking back to her, telling her to shut up.</p>
<p><em>   “Three on one,” </em>she thought to herself, <em>“fucking cowards.” </em>It looked like she was going to have to get involved on this one. She’d have to take them by surprise but it would stop this woman getting her throat slashed or developing some sort of disease that was no doubt on whatever they were holding. She highly doubted that this lot cared much about correct sterilization and hygiene standards.  </p>
<p>“Move her around so the camera can see her!” The fat, short and pudgy one snarled, obviously the one in charge. They moved so that they all had their backs to her, dragging the officer so that she was facing the CCTV camera in the upper corner. The hostage officer had gone very still as the implement was pushed closer to her neck.</p>
<p>“Open the gate or Vinegar Tits gets it!”</p>
<p>“<em>Let Miss Bennett go and I’ll see about opening it.” </em>A crackle came through the communication device. That was Joan. Her wife was so close. Although she only heard it through a walkie-talkie, she couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. If they were facing a camera, that meant Joan was observing the CCTV. Still a voyeur, she mused to herself. Oh well, her wife was about to have a hell of a surprise. </p>
<p>“Vinegar Tits is looking nervous, Fergie!”</p>
<p>Vinegar Tits? Oh, there is a story there, but that was for another time.</p>
<p> She moved quickly, deliberately stepping heavily to let her heels echo as she ran towards the one pressed against the officer’s back. The prisoner spun quickly, taking the shiv away from Miss Bennett’s neck to face the newer and possibly more dangerous threat. What a shame that the shorter woman did not move fast enough to avoid the fist that landed in her face and caused her to lose her balance. She quickly followed this by grabbing the side of the prisoner’s face and smashing it into the nearest wall. It made a crunch sound, and the prisoner slid down the wall leaving small smears of blood but did not move once she hit the floor on her knees and fell face down. The other two, turning at the sound of the commotion had lessened their hold on Officer Bennett, who swung for the prisoner on her left with a burst of adrenaline whilst she headbutted the closest prisoner to her who immediately collapsed to the ground, not expecting a forehead to smash into hers. Looking over to officer, she noted that her adversary was also out cold.</p>
<p>               Looking up, Miss Bennett couldn’t place the woman who had rescued her. She wasn’t an officer at the prison, although she was wearing a correctionals lanyard which could mean she was there on an internal basis for something investigative or other. Either way, the woman fought dirty with tricks that people didn’t expect. The redhead, whose hair was down and pin straight, came closer and leaned in to look at her neck, her hand coming up and tilting Vera’s chin up to see where a shiv had been pressed to her jugular. She noted that the stranger was wearing leather gloves.</p>
<p>“What the hell were they threatening you with?” she asked quietly, inspecting where her neck was red, but no cut skin and no blood at all. She was gentle, no need to be rough with a woman coming down off adrenaline. “No break in the skin, I think you got away lucky this time, Miss Bennett.”</p>
<p>“Homemade syringe.” Vera answered her shortly, processing the fact that this could have gone a lot worse. She looked around for it, noticing that in the hubbub, it had been thrown behind the locked gates of the slot cells, lying in the furthest corner away from the gate, where Bea Smith was currently sitting in a cell, no doubt waiting to be busted out to make a point to the Governor.   </p>
<p>Before the Deputy Governor could ask her who she was, the redhead was off at a quick pace, despite her red-bottomed heels, and it was all Vera could do to keep up, pushing her hair out of her face and straightening her black blazer. She flew around corners, obviously looking for something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>                                                                                                         <span class="u">JOAN</span></strong>
</p>
<p>Both Joan and Channing watched with open mouths as Vera Bennett had a hero in stilettos help her out of her hostage situation.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?!” they both exclaimed at the same time, then looked at each other in contempt before quickly looking back to the screens. The mystery woman’s back was to the camera, so they couldn’t see her face, however as the woman leaned forward to look closer at Vera’s neck, Joan felt like her heart was going to pound out of her chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>She knew the curve of that backside anywhere!</em>
</p>
<p>The logical side of her brain quickly took over. Her wife had been missing for a year and half and was likely dead and buried somewhere in a desert in Africa. As much as that thought caused her stomach to roll and her heart to feel like stopping, it was the truth. Even the UN agents that had been sent to tell her of the kidnapping had stated the likelihood that she would not be coming home. Besides, she was sure more women had a decent derriere in the same shape as her wife. They were unlikely to have the same dimple in the left cheek, however, she supposed others had similar shapes.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck was that!?” Channing spat, red faced and sweating.</p>
<p>“Haven’t a clue, but she’s got a lanyard which means she’s been cleared to come and go in the building.” Joan pointed out, enjoying that the General Manager’s face got even redder. Small jabs here and there was the best way to get to Channing, the idiot. Noticing that the two near the solitary cells had now rushed out of sight of the cameras, Joan rose from her seat and shoved the walkie-talkie into Channing’s trembling hands.</p>
<p>               “Do NOT call the SSEG!” She ordered, sending a glare that made him agree with her order, where usually he would have argued. Must be his first riot where he is actually present in the building, she mused. “Stay put, and keep the door closed, got it?”</p>
<p>He nodded. Good, she thought to herself and stalked out of the room towards the yard. Vera would likely bring the mystery woman with her to the yard and she could figure that out later. She had burning mattresses to deal with first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>                                                                                                                                <span class="u">WIFE</span></strong>
</p>
<p>“Miss Bennett, quickest way to the yard, where we aren’t going to be entering straight into the open with the prisoners?” She asked her tag-along. It was likely that the yard had multiple entrances, some behind a fence and some entering straight onto the outside with no fencing or locked gates.</p>
<p>“This way.” The shorter woman took over and lead the way, adrenaline still rolling around her system. Making their way through a few more gates, and she could feel a slight draft from in somewhere in front of them, which meant they were close.</p>
<p>Suddenly, after pushing through one last door, they were out in the open, behind fencing with barbed wire along the top, which seemed to go on for miles. Following Miss Bennett, she kept up, as the noise got louder as they rushed through sections of fencing until they reached the final corner where four officers were gathered, not willing to enter the yard and take on the hoard of women currently brandishing planks of wood and have managed to set a pile of something on fire. Looking closer, she noted that they appeared to be burning mattresses. They apparently liked sleeping on concrete slabs instead of a mattress then.</p>
<p>A roar went through the crowd as Miss Bennett pushed her way to the front of the small group of officers, whilst she deliberately kept behind them, not offering answers to their curious looks at her. Their eyes flicked down to the lanyard and that appeased them for now. Honestly, for prison officers they certainly were thick and didn’t question beyond what was presented to them. All that did was open them up to danger. She peeked around one of the larger men, a tall, darker skinned officer with large arms and dark hair. His mouth was pulled into a grimace at the current situation, his eyes roaming from one end of the yard to the other, as he crossed his arms across his chest. If she played for the other team, she’d consider him attractive. As it was, it was like admiring a pretty cake. Sure, it looked nice, but she wouldn’t eat it. She looked at the current disorder of the yard, and the angry women at one end. Something had caused all this, but finding out what would have to wait. She leaned too far past the officer and her emerald shirt stood out amongst the sea of black and white of the officers.</p>
<p>“OI, WHO’S THE WOMAN IN GREEN OVER THERE!” One inmate screamed, which caused all the women to look towards the fenced off section, trying to see what their riot-mate had pointed out. Sure enough, they all spotted her, and the noise increased tenfold. She didn’t like this. Three on one she could cope with, she had fought with worse odds before, she’d fought ten on one a few times, but this was more like seventy on one. These odds weren’t good. Apparently the officers around her agreed as they shifted uneasily.</p>
<p>“They’ve got a point. Who is she?” a blonde woman in a white blouse and black vest jabbed a thumb at her, whilst the rest of her colleagues shrugged. The woman didn’t question further, although her eyes dropped to the lanyard and back up to her face before looking away and focusing on the rioting women again.</p>
<p>Sighing loudly, she moved forward, and stood next to Miss Bennett. Maybe their curiosity would calm them a little. She doubted it but it was worth a shot. About half of the crowd moved towards the fence, which made the female officer next to her shift uneasily.</p>
<p>“I miss my wife.” She muttered. Apparently she was louder than she thought as Miss Bennett’s eyes flew to her face in surprise before quickly looking back to the bonfire in front of them. Today was turning into a long day. It was only supposed to be a quick sneak through the main doors and up to Joan’s office to sit in her chair and surprise her when she came back to her office. But no. Today was the fucking day to riot apparently.</p>
<p>“You’re married?” Vera asked, trying to get details about this woman who’d apparently appeared out of nowhere.</p>
<p> “Yep.”</p>
<p>The officer nodded with a small smile, focusing on the incoming crowd. They came to a stop a short distance away from the metal fence, focusing on the woman in stilettos and green blouse, still muttering in the background to each other. One skinny girl with blonde hair that looked like it had never seen a brush and who looked far too energetic for the situation pushed her way to the front, wearing a hoodie that was too big for her. She was bouncing on her toes, and she shouted;</p>
<p>“WHO’S YOU, THEN?!”</p>
<p>She looked at her and raised an eyebrow at her rudeness. Kids these days. No manners.</p>
<p>Smirking, the woman in green raised her voice as she stated, loudly and clearly whilst placing her hands on her hips;</p>
<p>“You can call me Mrs Ferguson.”</p>
<p>And both crowds erupted into noise as did the officers behind her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. She Wore Louboutins to a Riot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mrs Ferguson has announced her identity to the inmates. Before she's managed to find her wife. She's going to be in so much trouble when she sees her.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The noise was immense after her little revelation.</p><p>The officers behind her didn’t believe what she’d said, Miss Bennett was staring at her with an open mouth and both groups of inmates were now shouting over one another.</p><p>               “MRS Ferguson!?”</p><p>               “Ferguson likes girls?!”</p><p>               “The Governor has a wife?! HER?!”</p><p>               “I like her shoes…”</p><p>               “Fuck the shoes, I like her tits in that shirt, ey!”</p><p>               “Guarantee that her tits aren’t as expensive as those shoes though!”</p><p>Whilst Mrs Ferguson was busy deflecting prisoner questions particularly ones concerning her bust size and the price of her shoes, Vera Bennett raised her walkie-talkie to her mouth and pressed the button to speak.</p><p>               “Sierra Two to Sierra One.” She tried to keep her voice level, as she waited for a response from the Governor.</p><p>               “Go ahead, Vera, I’m almost to the yard to deal with this idiocy.” Joan’s voice was hard, and she could hear the clack of her heels in the background as she walked whilst she spoke. Out of the corner of her eye, Vera noticed how the redheaded woman startled as the Governor answered.</p><p>               Vera paused, wondering if she should tell her that her wife was here. A wife that Joan had never mentioned, or even alluded to. Then again, Miss Ferguson had never mention much about her personal life anyway, completely opposite to the way Vera bleated about everything. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, but then neither did Neil, one of the night shift officers and he’d been married for fifteen years. Who was this woman, this Mrs Ferguson?</p><p>               “Ma’am, I’d suggest that you come through the gated section from H1 to the fenced area.” Her superior wouldn’t like that suggestion, it wouldn’t be the strong play to make. But it would be the safest action to take.</p><p>              “Why would I do that, Vera?” the crackle of Joan’s voice came through again, sounding stern.</p><p>Vera Bennett took a large, deep breath in, straightened her shoulders and spoke clearly, enunciating every word.</p><p>             “Because your wife is here with us.”</p><p> </p><p>                                                                           <strong><span class="u">JOAN</span></strong></p><p>Wife.</p><p>Her wife.</p><p>Her <em>wife is here.</em></p><p>
  <em>HERE. </em>
</p><p>In the middle of a riot.</p><p>FUCK.</p><p>
  <em>Where has she been, all this time?! </em>
</p><p>She stopped short, reaching out a hand to lean against the wall as she bent slightly to breathe deeply a few times, trying to remember how to breathe with this new revelation. Her mind was whirring like a hamster in its wheel, trying to find answers that she didn’t have. Where had she been? Africa, all this time?</p><p>Her stomach gave a painful squeeze, reminding Joan of what she’d felt the first few days after her wife been kidnapped. It had felt like her world was closing in on her, the woman who’d put her back together after the heartbreak with Jianna, who’d encouraged her to build a relationship with Shane, Jianna’s son, who was now doing well with his adoptive family. This was the woman who’d made her realise how wrong her father had been in regards to emotion, but had helped her understand that at home, emotion was the best thing. In work, she could be as unempathetic as she liked but at home, she could unwind, knowing that <em>her wife</em> did the same. This woman, who’s disappearance had gutted her emotionally, creating a crater in her heart that even Jianna hadn’t caused.</p><p>
  <em>And she was here. She was back!</em>
</p><p>She can’t have been back in the country for very long. Joan knew that instantly. It had to have been three days, possibly four. Knowing her wife, she’d probably planned on sitting in her chair in her office and scaring the daylights out of her when she walked in.</p><p>The necklace that their wedding rings rested on felt hot under her shirt. The rings were on gold chain, that rested above her heart, reminding her that no matter where she was, her wife loved her. She’d not taken it to Africa, afraid that she would lose the custom ring that Joan had bought for her, asking if she’d look after it whilst she was gone. When Joan had heard the terrible news of her kidnapping, she’d taken to wearing both on a chain everywhere she went. In some small way, it had felt like her wife was with her, wherever she was.</p><p>Suddenly standing up straight, Joan spun on her heel, marching as quickly as she could in the direction she’d just come from whilst keeping her composure to the entrance to the corridor that would lead to the gated area of H1.</p><p>Suddenly the walkie-talkie flared to life again.</p><p>               “<em>Governor, she says to tell you that Cuba has better weather in the Spring.” </em>Miss Bennett’s tone was confused, but Joan recognised the phrase for what it was, instantly.</p><p>               <em>Play along with whatever I say. </em></p><p>Both women were suspicious due to their upbringing, and possibly slightly paranoid, and so had come up with four or five safety phrases they could use if they were ever in a situation that required it early on in their courtship. This particular phrase had been created to let the other know that it was imperative that she agree with whatever her wife said, and answered in any way required in order to make it seem plausible.</p><p>             “Miss Bennett, please tell me wife that I agree with her, and we should go soon.”</p><p>After hearing Vera’s confused answer, letting her wife know that she had understood her phrase, she stopped right before opening the door to the outside fenced area. She pulled the bottom of her blazer down to straighten any wrinkles, wiped a hand across her hair to push back any flyaway hairs and straightened her posture.</p><p>Time to be The Governor.</p><p> </p><p>                                                                           <strong><span class="u">MRS FERGUSON</span></strong></p><p>Joan was coming.</p><p>
  <em>Her wife was coming to her.</em>
</p><p>Whilst this thought was rushing through her mind, she noticed that the crowd had quieted somewhat, so she thought to try a different tactic.</p><p>               “Anybody want to explain why you’re burning mattresses and waving wood around?” She kept her tone even and calm, and she offered a small smile as she spoke, attempting to imitate what she though Vera Bennett probably looked like when she got her own way. Doe eyed innocent was what she was going for.</p><p>The chatters in the crowd increased slightly, but not to deafening levels. One woman was pushed forward. A spokesperson had been nominated it appeared.</p><p>               “I’m Conway, Mrs Ferguson.” The prisoner was cautious, but willing to speak.</p><p>              “Hello Conway. What’s with all this fuss?” She tried to look welcoming, more open, although it would be a waiting game to see if it were believed by the prisoners.</p><p>               “An inmate was slotted. And our cigarettes have been taken away. The women aren’t happy.” This inmate was straight to the point, she’d give her that. Judging by that minuscule amount of information, the inmate that was placed in solitary was likely the boss of the inmates here, and the cigarettes were due to new legislation which was not Joan’s choice. Had she not followed it, she could have ended up in a teal tracksuit next to these women. Mentally, she crinkled her nose at the idea of Joan in teal, the colour did not suit her.</p><p>                “This inmate, I’m assuming that she’s in charge of at least a section of you ladies?” Seeing nods from most of the women behind Conway. “How long is a stay in solitary, if you don’t mind me asking? On average?”</p><p>                “Three days to two weeks, ma’am.”</p><p>                 “How long has this inmate been in solitary?” Joan disliked the use of solitary for extensive periods of time. She knew this, her wife felt that there was better ways of improving behaviour with more effective results.</p><p>               “Two days.”</p><p>               “So she still has one day left. That doesn’t seem too excessive, especially considering we don’t know what she did.” Behind Conway, some women were nodding reluctantly, before being elbowed by some of their compatriots. Urgent whispering was beginning to pick up speed about their actions today and whether they were too hasty. Even Conway had a look of unease as she explained the actions of her wife in this instance.</p><p>               “She took our cigarettes!” One furious voice shouted from behind Conway.</p><p>Nodding, she looked towards Vera for an answer to this one. Miss Bennett had stayed silent during the previous exchange, fairly shocked at how much the redhead resembled her wife in her strength to deal with convicted prisoners without blinking an eye. The same could be said for her posture too. The woman stood with her back straight, confident, and looked like she could handle anything the prisoners could throw at her.</p><p>               “Miss Ferguson had all cigarettes removed this morning.” Vera’s answer was succinct. “We were given orders to confiscate all unopened packets, that the prisoners would have the money they paid for them put back into their accounts and that they could finish any opened packets within the next two days.”</p><p>Nodding along with Vera, she then looked back to Conway who was now shifting from foot to foot.</p><p>               “So you had warning, and you wont be losing out financially for unopened packets and you still get a chance to finish your open ciggies.” She looked at each inmate in the face where she could, green eyes staring into theirs as she made her point. A majority wouldn’t meet her eyes. She sighed deeply.</p><p>               “Ladies,” she spoke loudly, “you are aware that is why I’m here, yes? I’m here to make sure that she is complying with this new law that has been passed by our government to protect your health. I’m sure you won’t agree but unfortunately your Governor has to follow it to the letter, or else she ends up on the other side of the bars herself.”</p><p>
  <em>A lie. </em>
</p><p>The lie came easily. Too easily perhaps, but it was her nature to bring a hostile situation to a close as soon as possible. Especially after the last year and a half. It seemed the easiest option to explain her presence, and why she would need to speak to the Governor in her office later.</p><p>A jeer went through the crowd at her answer, no doubt at the mental image of her wife behind the bars of her own prison. There was no love lost between the inmates and their Governor it seemed, but then they would have despised whoever had to put rules in place to be followed. Joan just happened to be firmer than previous Governors that Wentworth had in office. Besides, if she had anything to do with it, Joan would never see or feel what being incarcerated felt like. During the past year and a half, she’d gathered favours and hoarded them as a dragon would hoard treasure. Connections had been formed, strengthened and forged in adversity, and if she needed to, she would call in every single one to keep Joan safe.</p><p>She heard the crunch of heels before she felt Joan stop beside her. She resisted reaching out to take her hand, knowing how strong her wife had to appear to be in front of these women. That was why she wore her hair the way she did after all, when paired with her black uniform, the impression she gave was intimidating. Loud grumbling could be heard as the inmates noticed that their governor had arrived on the scene.</p><p>Governor Ferguson held up a single hand for silence. The crowd complied.</p><p>               “My wife is correct.” A titter went through the crowd, apparently the idea that the Governor was married to a woman was still a shock to them. “I was given notice of the new law three days ago and given a week to implement it. Not enough time to let you all wean off cigarettes unfortunately, and Walford Prison has been given the same edict. However they haven’t decided to burn all their mattresses. They probably realised that it will take almost two weeks to get the amount we need replaced.”</p><p>At the mention of Walford, a curly haired woman with darker skin at the back of the crowd ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks, which both Governor and her wife noticed. However, when the crowd understood that they would be waiting for two weeks for new mattresses, they got noisy. Joan’s smooth voice caused a shiver to ripple up her wife’s spine. <em>She’d missed her voice so much.</em></p><p>A piercing whistle sliced through the air, bringing quiet from the crowd, mostly in shock at the noise. The Governor’s Wife let her hand fall from her mouth where she’d used her fingers to whistle for calm. As she brought her hand back to her side, she put her glove back on.</p><p>               “This is your consequence of starting a riot!” The crowd watched as Ferguson’s wife raised her voice, making them all feel like scolded children. She placed her hands on her hips, “You surely did NOT expect the administration to be able to magic almost two hundred mattresses out of thin air?”</p><p>The looks on the faces of the crowd showed that, they did indeed expect that.</p><p>               “A strict lockdown will be in place for one week as we try to correct the damage that you have done, including disposing of your smouldering mattresses over there! Bea Smith will stay in solitary for another two days, after which time she will be moved to a new unit. You do not get what you want through mindless violence, threatening my staff and setting fires to your belongings. Am I UNDERSTOOD?” The crowd, now appearing shocked at their Governor laying down the law in such a way, nodded without consciously deciding to do so. Nobody tried to object, understanding that they had failed in their aim of breaking Bea Smith out of the solitary cells, and so the whole operation was wasted. Conway motioned behind her, when the blonde who’d demanded to know her identity started kicking up a fuss, and two women reached forward and clapped a hand over her mouth and held her arms at her side.</p><p>Behind her, the officers appeared shocked that Ferguson has stood up for their safety in such a way. Erica Davidson had never laid down such an order, and Meg Jackson had never bothered sending such a definite show of power as a continuous lockdown for a period of a week. Will Jackson, the officer Joan’s wife had peered around earlier, looked impressed, even if slightly shocked. Perhaps they’d misjudged her simply because she was strict and wouldn’t allow prisoners to dictate what they wanted. He had to admit, that most of the prisoners would run a mile with only a little leeway, and try to take advantage. Better to remove any leeway. He finally understood Ferguson’s stance, and felt a little guilty that it had taken over a year to realise it.</p><p>“BACK TO YOUR UNITS.” Joan’s voice was loud and clear, with the authority of a drill sergeant over her soldiers. It did the trick as all inmates turned to return inside, some still talking about the appearance of the Wife, but mostly it would fall to prison gossip to gather more information on her. </p><p>They watched as all inmates returned inside ensuring that all stragglers had entered the building, before turning to face the five officers, including Miss Bennett who stood waiting for orders.</p><p>They had been ordered to lockdown the entire prison, ensure that nobody was hiding out in the library, canteen, shower rooms or elsewhere and the women would be staying in their units for the week, with each unit being allowed a shower twice a week, and would have food delivered to the main gate of their unit to share amongst themselves.</p><p>The officers moved away at pace with the exception of Will Jackson.</p><p>“Mr Jackson?” Joan tried not to let the tiredness seep into her voice as she rubbed her forehead. The man felt some pity for the woman who’d faced down an entire prison in her face and won. That was NOT an easy thing to do, and he began to realise that all actions she had done in the past year had been backed by legislation. It was a tough pill to swallow when a person realized that the individual they believed to be the Devil incarnate was simply a human being. Maybe the whole Kathy Bryant thing that Fletch had been ranting about had gotten all mixed up too. The man had completely fallen off the wagon after all and had come to work drunk. Maybe he should ask him some more about it when he was sober again. However, he’d wait for a better time to ask about that.</p><p>“That was well handled, ma’am. I’ll get the women sorted and make sure the other officers are handling it.” With this he nodded and walked away quickly, not needing a response.</p><p>Both women stared at his retreating back before looking to each other.</p><p>“My office?” Joan asked her wife, shooting a small grin at her.</p><p>“Thought you’d never ask!”</p><p>The duo walked back into the building, towards the offices, maintaining a close distance the entire way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Reunion on a Kitchen Floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Governor and her Wife make their way up the office.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">JOAN</span>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>She walked with purpose through the yard and into the building, making sure that her wife was keeping up.</p>
<p>
  <em>Of course she can keep up, the woman has legs up to her neck!</em>
</p>
<p>Both Governor and her wife quickly sauntered through the empty corridors and up numerous stairs, taking them two at a time as they made their way to the administration offices on the other side of the building, only passing a few officers going the opposite way. Swiping a key-card to enter through the heavy metal door blocking the access to the administration block, they came into a corridor with carpet, and navy blue walls with good lighting. Neither woman stopped, they simply continued on until they reached the black door of Joan’s office, noticing that the desk of the receptionist was empty and cleared of any paperwork and that her computer was dark. Likely the woman had retreated home as was protocol as soon as the riot had finished and the main door to the administration building had unlocked itself to pre-riot security measures.</p>
<p>Joan swung open her office door and allowed her wife to enter first before coming in behind her and closing the door. She quickly closed the blinds to the windows separating her office from the receptionist space, locked the door and then spun to face her wife.</p>
<p>Who hesitated for only a second before flying into her open arms.</p>
<p>Joan breathed in deeply, burying her nose into her hair as she inhaled the scent of her wife, a flowery scent of her favourite perfume. She held her tightly, and she could feel her wife doing the same, grasping handfuls of the black material of her blazer as she squeezed into Joan. Her eyes filled with tears as it finally hit her that her wife was <em>home. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>With her. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Where she belonged. </em>
</p>
<p>               “Elizabeth, my Elizabeth, my Bess!” Joan whispered into her wife’s hair as if muttering prayers, repeating her wife’s name over and over, as if she worried that the woman would disappear like smoke from her arms. Joan could feel her wife shaking in her arms, shoulders shuddering as she cried and sobbed for the first time since returning back to Australia.</p>
<p>Joan kissed the crown of her wife’s head, holding the woman tightly to her as she felt the woman breath in where her head rested at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.</p>
<p>               “Joan…my Jo!” Elizabeth’s mutterings were similar in fervour. Joan didn’t care that the prison still had a bonfire in the yard, or that a troublesome inmate was still in solitary, likely cursing that the plot to free her by force had failed. She didn’t care that three inmates had been left unconscious in the solitary cells corridor, and she didn’t care that they were in her office. She didn’t particularly care that she had left Derek Channing shaking like a wet chihuahua with a walkie-talkie clutched in his hands in the CCTV room. All she cared about, was her wife. Where they were, was not important information right now.</p>
<p>The shaking of Elizabeth’s shoulders slowly lessened. The redhead looked up, teary eyed with wet cheeks, noticing that her wife was in a similar state. Joan leaned down and captured her wife’s lips for the first time in over a year, pouring all the love and adoration she felt for the woman into the kiss. Her wife reciprocated with a hunger that she hadn’t felt since leaving Joan the morning that she’d left to catch her flight to Somalia.</p>
<p>The two broke apart, breathless. Joan leaned down and rested her forehead against her wife’s. She smiled as they returned to their previous pose of simply holding each other and basking in each other’s presence. Joan felt her wife snuggle into her embrace and grinned happily as she rubbed her hands up and down her back.</p>
<p>               “Jo, I think I missed dinner.” Elizabeth whispered as a gloved hand reached up to grip one of the lapels of Joan’s blazer. She was referring to the dinner that Joan had said she would make when she was supposed to return home. She’d promised to make her favourite, a Sunday roast with homemade Yorkshire pudding with plenty of gravy. Her wife’s statement caused the usually stern Governor to laugh out loud, a sound that filled the room and made Elizabeth grin.</p>
<p>               “Darling, to have you here, at home, with me? I will make you your favourite every night for the rest of our lives.” Joan promised as she leaned back and brought her hands up to hold her wife’s cheeks. Elizabeth leaned into the hands with a satisfied smile, closing her eyes as a tear dripped down her cheek. Joan gently wiped it away and then kissed her cheek.</p>
<p>               “I’ll hold you to that.”  Joan felt Elizabeth breathe in deeply, and then opened her eyes again. The two women simply looked at each other for a time, their eyes carefully tracking over each other’s features, looking for any changes that might have occurred in the time they’d been apart.</p>
<p>Joan noticed that her wife had a small and faint scar on her right cheekbone, likely from shrapnel from when the convoy with her wife had exploded, however, shrapnel couldn’t explain away the angry red line that stretched from her right collarbone down into the swell of her cleavage. Her green blouse hid the rest of the scar, but Joan guessed that her wife had not returned unscathed from her kidnapping. She’d also noticed the two pink lines along the top of her forearm, in the space where her blouse sleeve ended and her glove began. Likely something sharp had caught her arm.  She would mentally catalogue any further injuries later tonight when they were home together.</p>
<p>
  <em>When they were home. <span class="u">Together</span>. </em>
</p>
<p>This thought pushed Joan to embrace her wife again, who giggled as the older woman peppered her skin with kisses and ‘I love you’ muttered every few seconds.  Joan was ecstatic, and it showed in her behaviour towards her wife, who enjoyed every second. </p>
<p>               “Jo?”</p>
<p>               “Hm?”</p>
<p>               “I would kill for a cup of tea.”</p>
<p>               “No need for dramatics darling, I have a kettle in the kitchenette behind you.” Joan smirked at her wife, who reached up for one last, slow, heat building kiss before stepping away to the kitchen area towards the rear of her office, stripping off her gloves as she went.</p>
<p>Joan watched her wife walk away, watching her backside bounce as she did so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                                                                          <strong><span class="u">ELIZABETH</span></strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she filled the kettle and clicked the button to let it boil automatically, Elizabeth let a smile spread over her face. She peeked out at Joan’s office space, watching as her wife undid her blazer button by button and eventually pulled the garment off, placing it on the back of one of the chairs in front of her desk.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jesus, she’d forgotten how fantastic Joan looked in her uniform. </em>
</p>
<p>Tailored to her body shape, her wife knew how to make an impression. She also knew exactly how much Elizabeth loved the sight of her in her shirt and trousers with a loosened tie. Which is why Elizabeth wasn’t surprised to see nimble fingers raise up to her neck and loosen the black tie until she could also open the top two buttons of her white shirt. Smirking, she turned her attention back to the kettle and made two cups of tea, one ridiculously sweet and milky, and the other with only a dash of milk. Stirring absentmindedly, she thought back to her wife. High waisted trousers that emphasised her thighs and rear, whilst the shirt was cinched at the waist and showed the outline of strong biceps. She stopped stirring the spoon, and suddenly found herself with watery eyes, and swallowing thickly as she tried to stop the sob that wanted to rip out of her mouth. She covered her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook and tears started to fall down her cheeks, splashing on the counter. The fleeting thought of how she nearly never saw her wife again. How close she came to never being able to whisper how much she loved her in her ear whilst she was falling asleep again. A louder cry came from her mouth, despite the hand over her mouth.</p>
<p>
  <em>How close she came to never seeing her again.</em>
</p>
<p>Joan’s keen hearing had picked up on the disturbance in the kitchenette, however knew her wife preferred to try to calm herself first without Joan’s interference. Their years of marriage had taught her that little tidbit. However, on the third sob from her wife, she stood from behind her desk and marched towards where Elizabeth stood, hunched over two mugs of tea, shaking like a leaf and crying behind her hand, trying to muffle her sobs.</p>
<p>She turned as Joan came closer, and without a word, she opened her arms and let Elizabeth fall into them. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t need to yet. Carefully, she lowered the both of them so that they were sat on the tile of the kitchenette and let her wife wail and sob into her neck, allowing the pent up emotion from a year and a half of separation to overcome the younger woman. She held her tightly to her side, and stroked her hair, marvelling in the fact that she could do so again.</p>
<p>               “Oh I’m being so silly!” Elizabeth sobbed, shuddering as she continued to cry, not knowing how to stop. She let her wife gently hush her, and felt her kiss her hair, and she grasped at the arms around her, using them to remind herself that she was home, she was safe and she had her wife next to her again. Her right ear was ringing, almost reminding her that it wasn’t operating at one hundred percent capacity, and likely never would again.</p>
<p>               “No such thing as silly in this situation my darling.” Joan’s voice was quiet, and reassuring. She understood clearly that this emotion had to come out in some form in order for recovery to start properly from her kidnapping. Her wife’s reassurances caused a fresh wave of hot tears and shuddering shoulders.</p>
<p>               “They made me almost deaf in one ear!” the redhead wailed, and she could feel Joan flinch. However, for Elizabeth, this tidbit unleashed a torrent of detail regarding her time as an unwilling guest in Somalia, and most of it caused flinches in her wife, however her arms around Elizabeth never moved, or became slack. Almost deaf in one ear, all ribs broken at one point, burns, cuts, bruises and numerous concussions.</p>
<p>Joan could only hold Elizabeth tightly and whisper how much she loved her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                                                           <strong><span class="u">JOAN</span></strong></p>
<p>Gunshot wounds.</p>
<p>Not once.</p>
<p>TWICE.</p>
<p>Mentally, Joan attempted to keep a tally as her wife unloaded her trauma, noting that the partial deafness came from the second gunshot which had been fired too close to her ear and had damaged her right ear drum. She also made a mental note to herself to book a doctor’s appointment for her wife. The woman needed a physical, not to mention a psychological evaluation. She hated the phrase, but in this case it was warranted. Elizabeth was likely to agree to it without question, especially considering the breakdown in the office kitchenette. She wouldn’t place her wife in any psychiatric unit (mentally, she scoffed at this wording too.) but she would do as she vowed at their wedding and love her through “<em>sickness and health.” </em>Elizabeth had helped her through the trauma from Jianna, who even now still caused a flash of pain to think about. Now it was her turn to help her wife.</p>
<p>She peppered kisses onto her auburn hair, holding her close as her shuddering slowed to a stop. She sneaked a look at the clock on the wall, noting that her shift was technically over by now. It looked to be closer to six than she realised.  </p>
<p>Somewhere, her brain reminded her that Derek Channing was probably still sat in the CCTV room. Oh well. Somebody would find him soon enough. She planned to deal with him as soon as possible anyway, he’d already given her the perfect ammunition to have him removed from his post.</p>
<p>She felt Elizabeth move to sit up properly, so she loosened her arms and used a crooked finger to lift her chin.</p>
<p>               “Better?” She asked, watching her wife sheepishly nod her head and an expression of pure exhaustion took over her face as she leaned her head back onto Joan’s shoulder. Trying not to jostle Elizabeth any more than she had to, she lifted her rear a little and fished out her phone from her back trouser pocket and sent a quick text off to Vera to sort Channing out. She was her deputy after all, and Joan felt that it was time she started delegating to her to prepare her for when she actually became a Governor herself. When her phone pinged with a return message from Officer Bennett that she had dealt with the man and suggested he head home, Joan smiled. The idiot wouldn’t head home, it was likely that he would storm here to try and stomp about and have a tantrum.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sure enough, after about seven minutes of peaceful silence between the two women, came a loud pounding at the door followed by a male voice bellowing.</p>
<p>               “FERGUSON! Open this door!”</p>
<p>Joan motioned to her wife to keep quiet with a finger on her lips. Elizabeth grinned, albeit tiredly, whilst they both waited for the man to lose steam and stomp away. Channing persisted for another ten minutes until Vera’s voice could be heard outside the door.</p>
<p>               “Mr Channing, I’m sure I suggested you would be better recuperating at home for tonight.”</p>
<p>               “I know she’s in there! She’d better open up this door or else its her job I’m having!” The man smacked the door with his fist again.</p>
<p>               “Mr Channing.” Vera’s voice was like steel. “Ms Ferguson only shuts the blinds and locks the door to her office when she leaves for the day. Seeing as the blinds are closed, I would think she’s halfway home by now. Try again tomorrow.” The deputy left no room for argument with her tone and Joan heard the man huff and stomp away.</p>
<p>Looking down as her phone pinged again, Joan smirked.</p>
<p>           <em><span class="u">I know that you’re still in your office. Can I come in?</span></em></p>
<p>She showed the message to her wife, waiting for Elizabeth’s consent for Vera to enter before sending a message telling Vera to unlock the door and enter.</p>
<p>               “Vera is a kind individual, if somewhat innocent to be working in a prison, and also a little gullible. I’m trying to mentor her so that she develops some confidence in herself.”</p>
<p>Elizabeth nodded, understanding where her wife was coming from. Innocence wasn’t something that hung around prisons and if it did, then it was beaten out of a person pretty quickly.</p>
<p>               “We could use a friend, you know? Or at least someone on our side in here, because quite frankly, I don’t think you can rule this place like you did your last prison. This place is going to take finesse.”  Elizabeth’s voice was muffled due to her face being mostly in her shirt, but Joan realised the truth in what she was saying. She’d been at Wentworth for over a year, and although she’d made progress, it was nothing compared to the progress she’d made by this time in all of her previous prisons. Perhaps it was a softer touch that was needed. Manipulation would happen, as it always did in these places but it could be done with a softer persona. Maybe it would be worth it to let the story of why Joan’s wife had never been seen before today. They could spin it, of course, to maximise their advantage but it might be the best course of action.</p>
<p>The two women listened to Vera knock first, and then a jangle of keys as she unlocked the door. They could hear her step into the office, close the door and they heard the lock turn.</p>
<p>               “Kitchen.” Joan called out, listening to Vera’s heels on the carpet as she made the short distance to the kitchenette and stopped short at their position on the floor.</p>
<p>               “Everything alright?” there was obvious nerves in the deputy’s voice, mostly due to the fact that Governor Joan Ferguson was on the floor, holding her still slightly crying wife without her blazer or her shoes, the pair of heels which were currently laying haphazardly on the floor next to a pair of red bottom stilettos. Vera noted the loose tie, and opened shirt. It was very unlike her superior, at least what she’d seen of her so far.</p>
<p>               Elizabeth smiled wanly at the deputy.</p>
<p>               “Oh, a small breakdown after returning from being held hostage for a year and a half in Africa is all. Nothing to worry about.” She quipped, her voice still muffled.</p>
<p>               “<em>YOU WHAT?!” </em>the deputy felt the need to sit on the floor herself.</p>
<p>So she did, and landed with a thunk on the tile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Prisoner's Have a Conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Whilst Elizabeth explains to Vera what happened during her captivity, the prisoners in H block discuss the appearance of Ferguson's wife.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys, there's mentions of FGM (female genital mutilation) in this one, but it is only a mention!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               “Can you really believe that Ferguson is <em>MARRIED</em>?”</p><p>               “Why would we know? It could have been a safety thing.” Liz tried to think why they would never know that their Governor was married. Erica Davidson had flaunted her engagement ring at every opportunity. Or at least it seemed that way to a lot of the women, and Franky had great fun rattling the former Governor’s belief in her sexuality.</p><p>               “She was really respectful of us all, even when we were ganging up on her outside. She didn’t talk down to us or anything, she spoke to us like she was just speaking as if she’d seen us in the street.” Maxine pointed out, wanting it clear that the woman was not a threat. Yet, anyway. They didn’t know enough about her to make any further judgements than that.</p><p>               “Bea’s gonna have a fucking shock when she gets out of the slot.” Franky pointed out, as she sat with one leg up on the table and resting the other foot on her chair.</p><p>               The general feeling so far in the unit containing Franky, Boomer, Doreen, Maxine and Liz was disbelief. The Wife, as they’d taken to calling her, had appeared from nowhere with no warning. Although there had been no open and obvious communication between the two during the stand-off in the yard, their body language had shown all that really needed to be known. The two had moved in sync with each other, turning towards and away as the other did.  </p><p>Boomer was fiddling with the TV on the wall, until it switched to the news, where a photo of a smiling Elizabeth Ferguson, with her red hair and her red lipstick was showing on the screen next to the news presenter.</p><p>               “Guys, look! It’s Ferguson’s wife! She’s on the telly!” she called their attention to the screen, where they watched in disbelief.</p><p>               “<em>UN Diplomat</em>, <em>Elizabeth Ferguson has today been confirmed to have returned home to Australia safe and sound after a year and a half of being held hostage in Somalia. Mrs Ferguson was sent on a peaceful mission to the country to talk with officials regarding their stance on female genital mutilation, or FGM. It’s a widely used practice in the country, despite the health risks. Mrs Ferguson was there to collect information regarding their stance and then she was to return home. Unfortunately her convoy was attacked, and her truck was hit by a grenade which caused fires in the vehicles in front and behind. At the moment we don’t know who was behind this attack, as nobody has admitted to it. Up until a few days ago, it was believed that the diplomat had died in the resulting explosion, however UN forces received word that she had been seen in a village where her most severe wounds were cared for after she escaped her captors. The military then offered to have officers sent in to collect her and bring her home, after a year and a half of captivity. We wish Mrs Ferguson and her wife all the best in her recovery from her ordeal and we thank her for her hard work in improving human rights across the globe. Now it's time to see what the weather has in store for us over the next few days!”</em></p><p>The screen then cut to the weather as the women turned and looked at each other.</p><p>               “Holy shit.” Franky said, blinking.</p><p>               “She was blown up?” Doreen whispered, holding her hands up to her mouth.</p><p>               “She was held hostage? Fucking hell.” Boomer still held the remote to the telly. “Nah, I need a cuppa after hearing that, like.”</p><p>               Liz stared at the ground, her mind running a mile a minute. Maxine was in the same position. She lifted her head.</p><p>               “What if that explains the way Ferguson was, for the past year?”</p><p>               The others looked at her in confusion.</p><p>               “What do you mean?”</p><p>               “Well think about it. Your wife goes on what is supposed to be a simple trip, right? Go to this location, get some info, come home, bang bang job done? Yeah?” Seeing the nods that indicated the women were following along so far, she continued. “Then all of a sudden, some people show up at your house to tell you that ‘sorry, wife’s dead, we think she got blown to bits somewhere in the African desert!’ Wouldn’t that kind of fuck with you a bit?!”</p><p>               Maxine mentally calculated the timeline of events in her head.</p><p>               “A year and a half. So that means she’d been considered dead for at least 3 months before Ferguson started here. No wonder she was so cold and fucking unemotional. The woman was grieving thinking her wife was dead!”</p><p>               “Three months? She’d have been alright after three months though, hey? If she wasn’t, why would she come back to work?”</p><p>               Everyone turned to look at Boomer who was holding a mug of tea. Maxine ploughed on with her point, unwilling to let it drop.</p><p>               “Grieving is different for different people. If you hated your dad your entire life because he was a bastard to you, you wouldn’t exactly cry when he died, no?” Boomer shook her head. “Now imagine Franky died.”</p><p>               “OI!” The hypothetical dead woman looked affronted.</p><p>               “Shut up for a minute, you’re dead.” Maxine grinned at her. “Boomer, would you be sad if Franky died?”</p><p>               “Well, yeah.”</p><p>               “Now imagine Franky died in an explosion.”</p><p>               “Would you stop with the ‘I’m dead’ shit please!”</p><p>               “In a minute.” Maxine looked at Boomer.</p><p>               Nodding, Boomer thought about it. She tried to think about how she would feel if the situation was like Maxine had described. She’d be devastated. So she nodded at Maxine.</p><p>               “’Kay, I get it.”</p><p>               “So not only is her wife supposedly killed, she doesn’t even have a body to bury so she can get some closure? What must that do to a person? She probably came back to work for a distraction.”</p><p>               The women all stayed silent, thinking over the point that Maxine was trying to make. What if it was true? Would they see a difference, now that Elizabeth Ferguson had risen from the dead? Did her wife temper some of Ferguson’s worse personality traits? Or did she aggravate them?</p><p>               “Look at the way she reacted in the yard.” Liz pointed out. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms and looked at them. She waited for the penny to drop.</p><p>               “She’s only keeping Bea in the slot for another two days.” Maxine piped up, nodding in agreement. “Okay, she’s moving her to a new unit, but that’s normal when someone does something really big to get themselves slotted.”</p><p>               Doreen was nodding so fast that her hair was moving. “She only put a lockdown for week. New mattresses might take two weeks but we still have the foam things that they put under the mattresses to keep the heat in the bed. So its not like we’re gonna be sleeping on concrete, hey?”</p><p>               The group thought about it. Franky had to admit, Ferguson likely would have slotted Bea for weeks before her wife came back. She probably would have had everywhere searched as well as putting them on lockdown for weeks too.</p><p>               “We’re gonna have to wait and see. See what Bea says. This could make Ferguson worse. Or she’s so fucking happy that her wifey is back that she just stops giving so much of a shit. I do feel sorry for her though. Going a year and a half thinking your partner is dead, and not able to actually bury her? Not being able to say goodbye? That’s fucking horrible.”  </p><p>               Liz stood and offered to make tea for everyone. They all nodded in agreement, and didn’t notice that Will Jackson was stood by the locked gate to the unit, having overheard their conversation. They had a point. Trauma had a way of changing people, and Ferguson could change now that her wife was back. It was a case of wait and see.</p><p>               He walked away quietly, thinking it over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. She Comes Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elizabeth gets to go home for the first time in over a year. </p><p>Joan is there with her, every step of the way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry that this has taken me so long to update! Honestly, I've been so stuck for this particular story which is why I've put a lot of one-shots up on A03 in the meantime! </p><p>Thanks for your patience on this one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vera sat opposite the two women, gobsmacked as the redhead explained how her diplomatic mission to Somalia had gone extremely awry and how she’d only managed to return a few days ago following a debrief with her superiors, a quick security clearance from the military and a check up on her injuries with one of the military doctors.</p><p>               “How the hell have you not just collapsed and slept for three months?” Vera asked, shocked.</p><p>Bess shakes her head from her position with Joan’s arms wrapped around her.</p><p>               “I had to come home to <em>her </em>first.” She gestures upwards with her head, and Vera can see how the Governor’s arms tighten around her wife. It’s a type of romance you only really see in movies, she thinks. One person going through it all to get to the one they love the most in the world, no matter what happens. Vera hopes that maybe she’ll find someone who looks at her the way these two women look at each other.</p><p>               “Vera, we’re going to need your help. I’m going to need to take tomorrow off, to get her settled as best I can back at home. I know its bad timing, would you be able to take charge tomorrow?” Joan has to ask, play the part of concerned friend even though she knows that in work, all she has to do is say ‘jump’ and Vera will ask ‘how high’ without hesitation.</p><p>               “Not a problem. Take the next few days if you need it, the women are all on lockdown anyway.”</p><p>In under fifteen minutes, Joan and Elizabeth have managed to slip their shoes on, Vera has helped Joan stash any documents away from prying eyes in lockable drawers and Joan has righted her uniform, but doesn’t bother buttoning up her blazer. They’re out of the building and in Joan’s car and Elizabeth sinks into the plush, black leather of the passenger seat and releases a happy sounding sigh.</p><p>Joan simply reaches across to place her hand on her thigh and Elizabeth covers it with her own pale hand, noting the healing scratches and slightly unaligned pinky finger that were reminders of Somalia. She quickly looks up at the radio to avoid going down that path.</p><p>A breakdown in the car would not do.</p><p>They turn down a familiar street, passing house after house, until they reach the home that Elizabeth hasn’t seen in a year and a half. Joan pulls her car into the driveway with practiced ease and Elizabeth stays put, remembering her wife’s habit.</p><p>Joan gets out of the car, walks around to the passenger side and opens the door for her wife. A habit that had been started when they were first dating, it had continued well past their marriage and was still going strong. Using one hand to hold the door open, she bends and offers her other to her wife, who gladly takes it and uses it step out of the car. They walk up the porch to the front door, arms around each other as Joan lifts the key fob to lock the car.</p><p>Elizabeth notices how the flower beds in the front garden are still immaculately maintained. Colours border the garden, a mixture of flowers. Joan had never been green-fingered, but she’d either learnt how to garden or she’d hired someone to maintain it. It made her heart hurt how her wife had known that she hated it when her flowers died, so she’d kept them alive, even if she might never come back.</p><p>The sound of the key turning in the lock brings her attention back to the front door.</p><p>The black-haired woman keeps a firm but gentle grip on her wife as she unlocks the door and pushes it open, not sure how Elizabeth would react to being home for the first time in over a year.</p><p>She’s proven right when they step in through the doorway and Elizabeth’s knees buckle beneath her. Together, they sink to the floor, Joan’s grip on her wife never wavering. She blindly reaches behind her to push the door shut and then holds Elizabeth close to her.</p><p>               “I’m being so silly.” She mutters, taking deep breaths and looking around the familiar hallway. The large framed picture of the two of them on their wedding day, sat in their wedding dresses with the skirts pooled around them, watching the sunset with their backs to the camera and leaning against each other. It is proudly hanging on the wall to her left, the glass in the frame polished to a high shine with no smears. On the other wall is pictures of places they’ve visited, photos of tranquil blue seas of the time they sailed a catamaran together, and a picture of the two of them with coffee in Venice. The hallway table is in the spot that it’s always been, along with the post holder, and the vase with glass pebbles and a bundle of small fairy lights, that will be turned on in the evenings to give the hallway a soft glow. What makes her breath catch in her throat though, is the coat hook by the door.</p><p>Her favourite trench coat is still hanging there, along with her black umbrella with the polka dots, ready for her to step out of the door.</p><p>
  <em>Joan had never stopped hoping that she would come back.</em>
</p><p>It makes her sob, crying harder than a baby with tears, mucus and hiccupping as the two women hold each other tightly. She can feel Joan shaking, so she knows that she’s crying just as much as she is, and they’re still on the floor of the hallway, on the rug that she picked out when they first bought the house.</p><p>But she doesn’t care. Because this is real. She’s not going to wake up to the sound of shouting, of screaming and the sound of fists hitting skin. The entire time she’d dreamt of home, her dreams never managed to get the smell right. It’s a mixture of Joan and her favourite perfumes, along with clean laundry.</p><p>               “It’s real.” She hiccups into Joan’s shoulder. “It’s really <em>real.” </em></p><p>               “Darling, it’s real. I promise you.”</p><p>Slowly, they calm, heavy breathing evening out, and Joan decides that her leg is going to drop off if she carries on sitting on it the way that she is. Carefully she helps Elizabeth to her feet, watching as the woman kicks off the heels and shoves them with her foot under the hallway table, a habit she’s done every time despite Joan’s whining for her not to. Joan doesn’t care now, Elizabeth can pile her shoes under there if she wants to, because it will show that she’s home and safe.</p><p>Together they move through into the open plan kitchen at the end of the hallway, through the glass double doors. Her wife sits Elizabeth at the kitchen counter on one of the stools, then moves around to fill the kettle with water so they can have some tea.</p><p>Elizabeth looks around, particularly in the direction of the sliding doors, wondering what’s missing. It hits her suddenly.</p><p>               “Where did the dining table go?” She asks as Joan pours the hot water into their favourite mugs. Sheepishly, she brings the mugs over to the counter, and then moves away to grab the milk from the fridge.</p><p>               “I may or may not have lost my temper.” She pours the milk into both mugs and then moves back to the fridge to put the container back.</p><p>               “When?”</p><p>               “A few hours after the two agents came to tell me what happened.” Joan sits next to her on the stool, clasping her mug between her hands. “They came in the morning, and after I showed them out I sat on the sofa. Next thing I know, it’s dark outside. I walk through to the kitchen, and I just completely lose my mind. I threw whatever I could get my hands on. Plates, few pots and pans, that hideous vase your aunt got us. And there was the table. Glass, do you remember?”</p><p>Elizabeth nods and reaches her hand out to rest it on Joan’s thigh, rubbing her thumb softly on her leg.</p><p>               “I think I saw it and just raged. I threw everything I could get my hands on at it. I wanted it smashed to smithereens. Even threw the fish bowl at it.”</p><p>Joan remembers it well. After blankly staring out of the window for hours after the agents left, she remembered wandering through to make coffee and just completely losing her mind. She wanted to smash the entire kitchen apart to try and take the desolation she’d felt out on it. She’d gotten her wish in the end, the dining table ended up in a thousand different pieces, finally admitting defeat when a La Creuset stockpot went flying through it after she’d thrown it with a shriek of fury. Once she heard the crash of glass, she’d stopped, all anger and fight had drained out of her and she’d slid down the cabinets, sobbing and curled up into a ball.</p><p>Amazingly, the stockpot survived with only a small chip to the lip of it. Bob the goldfish hadn’t been so lucky.</p><p>               “Ah, so that’s Bob 2.0 in the fishbowl over there, then?” Elizabeth cracks the joke, pointing to the colourful fish swimming around the large bowl on the sideboard cabinet.</p><p>Joan nodded. “I slept for what felt like three days after.”</p><p>They drink their tea, Elizabeth resting her head on Joan’s shoulder, who has her warm around Elizabeth’s waist, comfortable silence between them.</p><p>               “I’m going to suggest something you might not like.” Elizabeth says, head still on her wife’s shoulder.</p><p>               “Hm?”</p><p>               “Dinner in bed with Netflix?”</p><p>And that is exactly what they do. Ordering pizza, and then using Joan’s laptop to watch film after film, Elizabeth finally settles into the idea that she’s truly home.  She lays in their bed, with her head in the crook of Joan’s neck and her arm wrapped around Joan’s waist, as they watch Chicken Run. An odd choice, but one they would watch if they wanted to just be able to enjoy the film.</p><p>At least, until Joan leans over to her ear, and in a <em>perfect accent,</em> says “But I don’t want to be pie!”</p><p>And Elizabeth laughs until her belly hurts, the sound filling the room and joined by Joan’s voice.</p><hr/><p>When Elizabeth gasps out in panic and shoots upright in bed, Joan is there.</p><p>Immediately soothing and reassuring that she’s home and safe.</p><p>She’s a solid, reassuring weight as her shivering wife clutches at her, curled into her with her neck resting in the crook of Joan’s neck. She murmurs at Elizabeth, in every language she knows. English, Russian, French, a little bit of Italian. Everything she says relates to how much she loves her, and how she was safe.</p><p>Gently, she leans back, so she’s mostly laying down, with Elizabeth still held tighty against her. Her breath has calmed now, and Joan can see that she’s struggling to keep her eyes open, and she’s blearily blinking.</p><p>Joan kisses her forehead, and strokes her cheek. “Go back to sleep, darling. I’ll protect you from everyone and everything, I promise.”</p><p>A thankful smile follows a gentle kiss to Joan’s neck, and Elizabeth settles in Joan’s arms. The black-haired woman tucks the blankets around her, and spends nearly twenty minutes listening to her wife’s deep breathing and basks in the sound that she hadn’t heard in a year and a half.</p><p>She eventually manages to go back to sleep, as the sun rises outside.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and Comments are always appreciated &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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